“I miss him, too, you know,” she said, her voice awash with anguish. “I miss him every day.” She made a fist with her right hand and punched at the air in front of Bo. “You had over twenty years with him as your teacher and friend. I barely had three, and he was sick for a lot of that.” She pointed to the farm, where on the northern tip, a tombstone marked the grave of Tom McMurtrie. “And now he’s dead, and we never . . .” She flung her hands up in the air and let them drop to her sides. “There was never a we. There was never an us. There was never a something.”

Bo took a step backward and looked down at the concrete. “I’m sorry.”

Helen scoffed and snatched a beer out of the carton. She popped the top and took a long sip, spilling some of the liquid down her neck. “You’re sorry?” she whispered.

Bo continued to peer at the ground, feeling the heat from her eyes on him.

“Where the hell have you been?” Helen snapped. “Other than your call last week, I haven’t heard from you in over a year. You don’t keep up with your cousin. You don’t keep up with me? Do you talk with Rick? Or Powell? Or any damn body?”

The answer to all those questions was no. Rick Drake had been Tom McMurtrie’s partner. And also my friend . . .

Bo hadn’t spoken to him since they’d all gathered here at the farm to pay their respects to the Professor last year. He likewise hadn’t spoken with Powell or anyone else.

“I’ve been trying to get custody of my kids,” Bo said.

“No, you haven’t,” Helen said. “Trying would involve some effort on your part. Getting a job to tide you over until your suspension lifted. Renting or buying a house closer to your kids so that you could show that you had a suitable home for them. Doing . . . something.” She paused and punched his shoulder. “But all you’ve done is sit out here on this farm and feel sorry for yourself. Poor old Bo. Lost his wife. Lost his best friend. Gonna lose his—”

“That’s enough,” Bo said, feeling anger swell within him but also knowing that something was off here. “General, did you really come all the way out here to berate me on the state of my life?”

Fresh tears had now formed in her eyes, and she shook her head.

“What then?” Another thought struck him, and he cocked his head at her. “How long have you been here anyway?”

She blinked and wiped her eyes. More makeup smeared her cheeks. “I don’t know. Six hours. At seven o’clock, I drove down to a place called Posey’s and ate dinner. Got a six-pack at a gas station on my way back.”

“General, tell me what’s going on.”